


The Pale Stranger

by Howler518



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family, Fate & Destiny, Fluff and Angst, God of War (2018), Gods, Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, Parent Kratos (God of War), Romance, Trauma, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2019-11-12 19:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18017057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howler518/pseuds/Howler518
Summary: Midgard had been quiet for ninety winters while Faye has stood watch as the last guardian of the Jotnar. Until the day she encountered a strange god from a foreign land. Kratos can't seem to escape the trail of violence that haunts his every step. Some wounds are too deep to heal. Some nightmares won't go away.Faye strikes a deal with the god, hoping she can discover more about him. And maybe, she can teach him to be better.





	1. The Stag

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing except OC's.

The forest was calm and dim. Errant rays of sunlight shot through the heavy cover branches. A hunter moved silently through the thick shadows. The morning frost had made the foliage stiff under her boots, and small puffs of fog rose from her nostrils.

Faye inhaled deeply, sampling the air on her tongue. She could almost taste the stag. There was a bitter musk, nearly undetectable among the mix of scents in the forest. Faye followed the currents of wind where she could catch the scent of her prey.  The trail of cloven tracks made in the spongey earth led her meandering through the dense woods. Faye stopped and crouched, tracing her fingertips along the edges of the hoof-marks. The imprint was nearly as large as her spread palm.

A grin quirked on her lips. It would be a large catch today. A creature that size could feed her for months with good preserving. She itched at the anticipation of a new pair of boots, knowing that her current pair wouldn't last much longer. But first, she had to catch the elusive creature. Wildlife had grown more and more scarce since the Desolation. Each season proved harder to provide enough resources to last through the long cold months. She hovered her hand over the track and focused her senses. Shutting out the forest around her, silencing her mind of the chatter of birds and the babbling streams, Faye could catch the faintest warmth emanating from the earth. She had grown closer to her goal.

Faye bounded through the forest she had come to know so well. Many had winters had passed since her kin had fled Midgard, leaving her to guard the realm alone. Had it been eighty, gods, ninety winters? The exact number escaped Faye's mind. By now, she knew every rock and every stream. She knew the varieties of every shrub, and herb, and flower. She even knew the names of the trees by heart. The ones forgotten by time and by tongues, ones she could only hear whispered among the branches. They called to Faye now, but in her singular focus, she too had shut them out of her mind.

 _A stranger walks here,_ they warned her. But she could not hear their gentle words.

Faye found the stag drinking from a stream, unconscious of her presence as she crouched a couple yards away. A gentle breeze carried the scent of the stag towards her, filling her nose with its musky scent. Strands of auburn hair tickled her cheeks and she knew that she was downwind from the creature.

Faye nocked an arrow then hooked her leather-guarded fingers around the bowstring. On a slow inhale, she reeled her arm back and drew the bow. Holding the bowstring taught, her ice-blue eyes narrowed on the stag's chest. The animal straightened, but it was unaware of the imposing danger. She watched the beast exhale a long puff of fog from its mouth.

A twig snapped, breaking the spell.

The stag froze as it suddenly became hyper-aware of its surroundings.

Before Faye could loose her arrow, a figure burst from the foliage with a howl of rage. At first, Faye thought the beast to be a troll or perhaps a wulver. Her heart pounded in her chest, her instincts caught off guard. The poor stag released a wail of pain as it was wrestled to the ground by the beast. But it was no beast, Faye realized, but a man. He had a stone grasped in his pale hands. He brought the stone down hard on the stag's skull. Blood exploded from the creature's face.

Though no beast, the man was feral. He roared as he brought the stone down again and again. The sound of bone crunching wetly under the force of impact made Faye nauseous. She had seen reavers scavenging in the forest and old ruins, but none like this. It all happened in a matter of moments and the stag grew limp under the man. The stranger remained crouched over the animal, his chest heaving as he panted. She couldn't see much of him except that he wore a makeshift cape of bear-hide and a pack was slung over his back. Faye released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Before she could make a swift exit, the man's attention shifted from the animal.

Piercing gold eyes met hers.

Faye's fingers slipped. _Shit._

The arrow sang through the air and struck the man in the shoulder. He grunted but didn't seem to take the impact. For a moment, Faye wasn't sure if she had actually shot him. The man regarded the arrow, grit his teeth, and snapped the shaft off in his fist. Adrenaline flooded Faye's bloodstream, her chest pounding hard. The stranger stood and faced her head-on, his face twisted in rage.

She nocked another arrow.

"Stay back," Faye warned. When she spoke, his expression only soured further. He seemed more annoyed than anything. She stood amongst the shrubs and other foliage, the space between them feeling immensely smaller. He was a giant of a man, at least a head or two taller than Faye and broad with thick bands of muscles wrapping around his form. The man dropped the bloodied stone at his feet with a snarl on his lips. 

With bloodlust burning in his gaze, he took a step forward.

Faye's heart stuck to the downbeat and she fired another arrow at him.

This one hit him square in the chest. Again, he didn't seem phased. He took another step. Her eyes darted to the bloodied, crushed face of the stag to the stranger. The sirens in her mind screamed.

She fired two more arrows in quick succession. The man dropped to a knee.

 _Stay down_ , Faye thought. Though she didn't know how he was still conscious in the first place. This was clearly no ordinary man. The pale stranger looked down at his chest and Faye could see that his mind must have caught up with his body. The energy drained from him almost instantly as his hand gripped an arrow. He winced, saying something under his breath in a language that Faye did not recognize. It was coarse and foreign, escaping her knowledge of all the languages in the nine realms. The rage that was burning inn him before deflated and his golden eyes lulled.

The man drifted backwards as he lost consciousness. He hit the earth with a heavy thud that echoed in Faye's chest. Her heart raced, her mind churned. Silence returned to the forest.

Suddenly, a sharp twist crawled from Faye's gut, up her spine, to her forehead. She gasped, images flooding her mind.

_A young boy with auburn hair and ice-blue eyes darts through the trees. He is as swift as a fox, his eyes keen on a white stag. The pale, tattooed man follows after the child. In his grip is the Leviathan axe. **Her** axe. _

The images receded like the ebb of a tide. Faye's stomach turned as she looked at the man lying in a heap next to the dead stag.

Indeed, this was no ordinary stranger that had come to her woods. 


	2. Homestead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye makes a few concerning discoveries about the stranger as she battles with her own instincts.

The pale stranger's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as he lay on the forest floor. Three arrows stuck from his chest. Yet, he lived.

 _How had they not killed him?_ The answer became more clear to Faye as she approached the man. Though he was unconscious, the warning bells in her mind rang louder and louder with ever step she took.

 _It's not possible_ , she repeated to herself. Yet, there was a familiar tingle at the back of her neck, a shiver on her spine that she only felt in the presence of Odin's kin.

 _I couldn't be._ But her instincts rang true as she crouched over the man. This tattooed man was a god.

"What are you?" she hissed. " _Who_ are you?"

Faye examined him for any tell-tale signs of the Aesir. He bore no runic tattoos, only the single crimson stripe that began at his eye and crept back over his crown and down his spine. His face seemed frozen in a perpetual grimace and a dark beard grew thick at his jaw. He had strong features, hard cheekbones and proud nose. The man looked nothing like any gods she had seen before. _And his skin._ It was pale as the first snowfall, heralding a long and cold winter.

The only battle-dress he wore was a belt of studded leather straps. He reminded her of a _berserkr,_ men who wore nothing for armor except animal hide into battle. The crazy bastards. But Faye had not seen those in nearly ninety winters. Her nose wrinkled. The bear-pelt he wore as a cloak stunk of rot.

Now closer, Faye could see all manner of wounds marking his pale skin. There were deep gashes at his sides and abdomen, Faye recognized the claw-marks. He must have come across a pack of hungry wolves eager to make a meal of him. They were a few days old but in all the excitement, the wounds had broken their seal and begun to bleed once more. Dark yellow pus oozed around the gaping mouth of the wounds. No doubt there were infected. Faye supposed that was the rot she smelled. Those would need a strong poultice and at least a month to properly heal. And the arrows? She would have to extract them herself if he had any chance of surviving.

 _No._ She chastised herself. _You don't save god-kin._

It was their nature to do only harm. If she saved this god, would he not turn on her? A well of long-forgotten rage burned inside her. Faye gripped her bow tight in her first, pinching her eyes shut. She thought of her brothers and sisters that fled Thor's carnage. She remembered the glee in his face as he slaughtered them by the hundreds. This god, whoever he was, didn't deserve her kindness.

 _But the vision..._ She reminded herself. That she could not deny. _Groa's-bones!_ She couldn't deny seeing the child.

Looking back the at pale stranger, Faye cursed.

#

It was no easy feat dragging his body back to her homestead. It took almost all her remaining strength to bring him back to her hearth.

The man stirred when she heaved him onto her bed, but he did not awaken. He only released a low groan, mumbling something incoherent. Exhaustion and hunger coupled with his injuries weakened him greatly.

Faye brought the back of her palm to his forehead, then hissed, tearing her hand away. If it wasn't the wounds that would take him to Hel, it would be the fever. Faye knew she had to work quickly to save the stranger's life. She removed the bear-skin cloak and the studded belt around his waist. So strange, for a traveler to carry so few supplies. But this was no ordinary traveler, Faye reminded herself. As Faye heaved up the stranger's satchel, she staggered under its weight for a moment.

" _Gods' blood_!" She wheezed, nearly dropping it entirely. It was far heavier than Faye expected. Something shifted inside and gave a metallic clang. She left the satchel on her table, eyeing it suspiciously. "I'll have to look at you later," she promised.

Faye gathered medicinal herbs from her garden and pure water from her well. She ground willow bark to alleviate his pain and collected honey to draw out the infection. All the while as she worked, she kept her eyes hard on the stranger's face. Though he was weak and dying, the scowl had faded from his face. He looked almost peaceful in his slumber, relieved even, to be so near shuffling off the mortal coil.

"You will not give up so easily, stranger," Faye warned, though she wasn't sure if he could even hear her.

She chided herself. Why should she care of the wellbeing of a god? Faye fought with her own natural urges to help those in need, but her warrior-spirit ground against every bone in her body. She shouldn't care for a god. What have they ever done for her and her kin? But as much as she wanted to leave him for scavengers in the woods, she couldn't. Faye knew that if she did not help him, she could not get answers to the many questions that grew with every moment.

Where did he come from? Why had he come to this realm?

Even more troubling, if she did not help the stranger, she would not come to see his connection with her vision. Faye's eyes drifted across the hazy interior of her home. Through hanging dried herbs, pelts, and animal skulls that littered her home, Faye could see the Leviathan axe as it hung by antlers above her doorway. In the vision, the stranger wielded her axe as well as she could. It made all her stomach churn. She had to know more about this man. Faye's eyes shifted from the Leviathan axe to the stranger's leather satchel.

Faye approached the satchel, her chest heavy with uncertainty. She turned back for a moment. The stranger still slept, but restlessly.

Keeping her eye on him, Faye opened the satchel slowly. Inside, Faye was surprised to find neatly folded bundle of crimson material. Along the edge of the clothe was gold etching sewn into the fabric in geometric shapes, symbols that Faye was unfamiliar with. The fabric was soft and rich, kingly even. Fit enough for a god.

She extracted the bundle carefully from the satchel. Unfolding the clothe, a cold feeling dropped like a boulder in Faye. Inside she found twin blades. They were rough and worn from age. Attached to the grip were chains.

 _Monstrous weapons,_ Faye thought, her jaw tight. _Fit for a monster._

She pulled up the hide rug beside her hearth, revealing a crease in the floorboard Underneath was a small crawlspace. She tucked her fingers around the edge of the wood slats and found a shelf hidden in the darkness. She wrapped the blades up tightly and hid them inside the dark space. Even if the stranger found the crawlspace, he would have to have a keen eye to spot the shelf. Faye quietly closed the trapdoor and replaced the rug, making sure that nothing looked out of place. Now, she need only wait until he woke.

Except, she would need some form of security. Faye went to her doorway, to the Leviathan axe. She tentatively reached up and gripped the handle. It was cool to the touch and tingled with magical energy. She ran her finger over the runic etchings along its head. Forged with the many hearts of frost trolls, it sent a familiar chill up her arms as she held it.

With this weapon she vowed to protect the Midgard from all threats. With this axe, Faye thought that she would wage war against the gods for what they did to her kin. But along the way, she waged her own war of a different kind: to live on despite the gods and brave this unforgiving world. Had she forgotten that so quickly when faced with a god in the flesh?

Faye pulled up a stool at the stranger's bedside and sat with Leviathan across her lap. Instead of war, perhaps there was another way to deal with the stranger. Gods by their nature do only harm. Perhaps this was her only chance to change one of them.

 _Perhaps,_ Fay thought, _he could learn to be better._


	3. Farbauti

Several days past.  

On the first day, Faye had taken pure water and clothe to his bedside. In the rush to stabilize the god, she had not washed away the grime and filth that covered him from head to toe. She hated the idea of touching him. It seemed wrong to offer a god such intimate care while her kind had been slaughtered by the likes of him. More than that, Faye felt uneasy being so close to a god, especially one that she knew was capable of great violence. 

Faye reached out and slowly molded her palm over his shoulder. The stranger flinched as their skin touched. He was still feverish. She hoped the fever would not take him to Hel too soon.  

“I have questions,” Faye muttered, soaking the clothe in the water basin and squeezing it out. A knot balled up in her chest and she steeled herself with grit teeth. She brought the clothe to his arm and pressed it to his pale skin. He stiffened underneath her touch and his brow knit together. Faye could feel the muscles in his shoulder tense but thankfully, he remained unconscious.

Faye continued to work, all the while cursing herself for placing herself in the wolf’s jaws. This was all new territory for her. For the later part of her life, all she had known how to do was _run_ from gods. Or at the very least, elude them.

For a time, she slid into the shadows and like a ghost she haunted Asgard. Faye made a name for herself in those days as she tended to the sick and weak prisoners of the Aesir, and passed them all the food she could smuggle.  

They called her Laufey the Just.  

It maddened and enraged Odin that she had undermined his cruelty. He had sent his son, Thor, after her. Faye managed to elude the witless oaf, but it did get her in the habit of running _away_ from gods. Not tending to them as they lay dying. 

Faye squeezed the clothe hard, and roughly scrubbed the man’s chest. Perhaps this stranger was an agent sent from Odin to do what Thor could not. The thought made her stomach twist. And here he was, in her bed, receiving her care, all for him to wake up and wrap his hands around her throat.

It would befit the Allfather to send such an agent to appeal to her good-hearted nature. Faye whispered prayers for Tyr’s guidance as she washed the dirt and blood away. 

As the days bled into each other, Faye had nearly gotten used to the god taking up space in her home.  

Every day she would check his bandages and change the wrappings. While his other wounds were on the mend, the ones around his wrists and forearms were steady to heal. In fact, they didn’t seem to heal at all. Faye did her best to keep them wrapped with healing salves but deep down she had a feeling that those markings weren’t entirely of this world. They looked like the links of chains had burned themselves into his skin.  

She stiffened, her blood running cold.  

Faye looked back at her rug for a moment, where underneath the blades lay hidden.  

“What kind of man would do that to himself?”  

 _He’s_ **_not_ ** _a man_ , Faye reminded herself. Gods are capable of all manner of cruelty. That at least, she knew for certain.  

In the night, the stranger would talk as he slumbered. Faye knew all the languages in the nine realms, and yet this one escaped her. Faye knew that she would have to work around the language barrier if she had any hope of getting answers from the stranger. So Faye listened, attuning herself to the foreign tongue.  

“ _Calliope_ ,” he would call. Faye was certain it was a name. He said something about being sorry. But it was all still muddy for Faye. Did he say he was sorry or was he asking about a goat? She found that she could learn just about any language, even the ones she didn’t know. However, this one would certainly take more time.  

Sometimes when he grew especially restless, Faye would listen patiently at his bedside. 

“Who do you dream about?” She whispered, “Who is Lysandra?”  

There were some hard nights where he would jerk violently and cry out. It was maddening for Faye. Though she did not want to wake him and put herself in his rage-fueled path, she also did not want him to open his wounds again.  

 _He’s no use dead_ , she told herself.  

“ _Sh_ _sh_ _sh_ ,” Faye tried to soothe, but he continued to thrash. By the dim light of her hearth which had died down to glowing embers, she could see his face contorted in pain.  

Faye's jaw tighten and placed a palm to his forehead, trying to steady him.  

“Be still, god's-blood.”  But her words had no effect. Whatever his agitation was, he wasn’t going to calm easily.

She wasn’t sure from what pit of memories it sprang, but a song found its way to Faye’s lips. At first, it was awkward footing as she remembered the tune.

 _“The sky is dark, and the hills are white.”_  

Still, the god was restless. Already blood blossomed through the bandages on his side. _Dammit._ Faye continued to sing. It was all she had left to do, other than tying him down.  

 _“As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night,_ _”_  

It was a low, whispered song. She was sure that it was a lullaby that she’d heard as a child, one that managed to soothe her when she had nightmares. 

 _“What shall you fear when I am here?_  

 _Sleep, little one, sleep.”_  

Admittedly, Faye felt a bit foolish for singing a child’s lullaby to a god. But it didn’t matter, she wasn’t even sure if he could hear her.  But as she sang, the man softened under her palm. His contorted face relaxed some. She could feel the muscles in his body loosen as he fell still once again. Faye had begun to rub her thumb along his forehead absentmindedly.  

 

At last, he calmed. Faye stole her hand away and backed off the god. She gripped her hand in a tight fist, trying to squeeze away the memory of his skin. Faye thought about how she touched him. There had been tenderness, the kind undeserving for a god.  She hadn’t meant to do that.  

She was about to go back to sleep on her rug when a hoarse voice cracked the darkness.  

“What have I become? _”_ the stranger murmured. Faye spun around. He had sounded so lucid, and she had understood him perfectly. Yet, his eyes remained closed. His expression was pained. 

“What have I become?” he repeated.   

# 

Her feelings about the god became more and more muddied. It was hard to be angry at someone whom she had grown so familiar with, even if it was wholly one sided. He could still spring awake at any moment and turn on her, without any knowledge that she had been the one to bring him back from death’s grip.  

She was still unsure how this god would be connected to her future. No more visions had come to her and his restless murmurings offered no insight. Her lack of clarity coupled with long hours had her growing evermore impatient for answers.  

 The days seems to be growing longer, even though dusk approached sooner with the coming winter. Faye grew restless with boredom and impatience as the days dragged on. So, she filled the empty hours with menial tasks as she watched over him. She got in the bad habit of humoring one-sided conversations. 

One day after she had returned from hunting, she came through her door and announced, “I’ve caught us venison, _Fárbauti_.”  

She had come up with the name which meant ‘he who strikes dangerous blows.’ It was fitting. And she was tired of calling him a stranger. It had been little more than a week and he had slept in her bed, shared her hearth, and even eaten her food (or whatever broth she could slip past his lips). By any normal standards, he was not a stranger anymore.  

She slung the carcass from her shoulder and let it land heavy on her table. Faye brushed a strand of auburn hair from her face with a heavy sigh.  

“No grumbles for me today, eh?”  

He did not stir.  

“Fárbauti?”  

A brief panic came over her as she noticed his chest did not move.  

“No no no no. _Shit!_ ” Faye threw down her bow and quiver and rushed to his bedside. She waited for a moment, holding her breath. His entire body was unnaturally still. She reached out, putting both hands on his shoulders and shook him gently.  

She had spent too long hunting. Had the fever taken him in that time? Faye thought he was getting better, already his wounds were fixing to heal well. She was sure he would wake soon, not succumb to his injuries.  

“ _Fárbauti_!” Faye shook him again, harder, but he was like a stone. She put her fingers to his neck and found a slow, lazy pulse.  

There was one tried and true method that she hadn’t tried yet. Faye winced, and she drew her hand back.  

“Please don’t be angry,” she prayed.   

She struck him hard across the face.

Eyes like molten gold snapped open.

Faye’s heart leapt up in her throat.  

 _Fuck._  

# 

F _á_ rbauti gripped her wrist hard, his eyes burning into her own. Her mind spun. Words tumbled out of her mouth.  

“ _Friend,_ ” she said in his language. The man growled and said something back, but she couldn’t understand.  

“I am not your enemy-” she barely got the last word out when his other hand came to grip her throat. She tried to say the word for friend again but Fárbauti gripped tighter and choked the words from her. Faye clawed at his hand and her lungs burned for air.  

There would be a time for reasoning later.  

Faye brought her free hand down to his jaw in a quick jab. He grunted and released her. Faye stumbled back, coughing. Fárbauti rose from the bed and winced in pain. He gripped his side and found her bandages there.  

“Friend!” Faye croaked and pointed at her chest. “Friend! You stupid idiot!”  

What if he wouldn’t back down? What if he gave her no choice?  

The axe was at still his bedside where she had left it. 

 _Stupid!_ She scolded herself.  

His gaze followed hers to the axe. With a low-burning snarl, he hefted the axe in his grip.  

“Not friend.” He said. Fárbauti advanced her.  

Message received.  

Faye recalled the axe to her hand. An unseen force stole the axe from the god’s hand, and it flew through the air in an arc toward Faye. She caught it midair. She ground her teeth, her warrior-spirit burning hard in her gut. The god looked from his hand to the axe that was now clear across the room in Faye’s grip. His golden eyes narrowed.  

“Come and get it, beast,” she growled.  

Fárbauti roared and barreled across the room toward her. Before Faye could raise the axe, Fárbauti rammed into her, his shoulder connecting with her ribcage. Air escaped her lungs and Faye gasped.  

He threw her against the wall, knocking the axe from her hand. Faye’s skull slammed back against the wall. She could taste blood in her mouth.  

He pounded his fists into her ribs. She managed to block a few punches, but some met their mark. Pain exploded inside her with every blow.  

Fárbauti reeled back, and with another wild roar he brought his fist down. Faye dodged the punch and drove her knee into his abdomen. Right into his wounds. He grunted in pain and drew back, gripping his side and panting. Faye called the axe back to her hand.  

“Don’t make me kill you,” she warned.   

The god panted for a moment and spit blood. There was a small breath between them.

As if he realized that she would not be so easily smashed as the stag had been.  

“Come on!” Faye roared.  

He faked a step to his left and Faye, in her haste, threw the Leviathan. The axe went spiraling to the left and Fárbauti attacked from the right, bringing down blow after blow with renewed fury. Faye blocked his arm and landed three hard punches to his abdomen. She knew if she kept aiming there, he would eventually weaken.  

The god faltered with a cry of pain and Faye landed one more hard jab to his throat. The god stumbled back, gasping for breath like a fish.  

Faye inhaled slowly and approached him, wiping blood from her lip. She drove a devastating kick to his knee, bringing him down to the floor as he coughed and sputtered. She slid to the floor and wrapped her arms around his neck, bear-hugging the air from his lungs. He drove himself back and buried her beneath him but Faye held tight. She wrapped her legs around him and hooked her ankles at his chest to keep him from kicking her off. 

“ _Friend_ ,” Faye snarled through grit teeth. Fárbauti elbowed her hard in the ribs and she heard a sickening **crack**. Still, she held on through the pain.

Struggling harder, and more desperately, Fárbauti reached back and grabbed a fistful of her auburn hair. Faye yelped as he tore a good chunk of her hair out. She dug her teeth into his arm until she tasted blood.  

She only had to hold on a bit longer. His breaths were growing more labored. Faye could feel the strength draining from him with every struggle, each one becoming less ferocious than the last.  

Finally, Fárbauti fell limp on top of her. Faye was still panting and holding tight.  

 _Let go._  

She had to tear herself away to keep from killing him. Faye heaved his massive body off her and regained her breath.  

Faye planted one last kick into his back.  

“Stupid god,” she hissed.  

 

 

  


	4. The Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus: Kratos' point of view of the previous chapter.  
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

When Kratos awoke, he felt warm and safe. The feeling was so foreign to him that he thought he might be in Elysium. But this was not his afterlife. Kratos felt that he was lying alone in an unfamiliar bed. He could hear a fire crackling, and beyond that, the call of birds and the howl of the cold northern winds. This was not some muddy ditch nor was it a bear’s cave which he had usurped.  

It was a small home that radiated with the soft glow of fire. Runes and other symbols were carved into the wood of the home but their meanings were lost on Kratos. Drying herbs and flowers hung from the rafters alongside the skulls of animals. Kratos spotted the larder and his stomach rumbled hard. Though it was entirely strange to Kratos, it was an inviting home and there was a fire to warm his tired bones.  

Yet, the lingering whispers of dreams still clung to his mind like ghosts. No matter how warm the fire, there was a deep chill in his heart that he could not shake. He had been dreaming of a life that had not been his for a long, long time. He dreamed of Sparta. He dreamed of forests rich with cypress and juniper, and the land of rolling hills and tall sheltering mountains. There had been a wife and a child in that life so long ago. But like the once fertile beauty of the land, they too were no more. 

All done by his hand, Kratos reminded himself bitterly.  

How long had it been since he left the shores of Greece? A few years? More? Time had only been measured by his hunger and exhaustion, dancing on a knife's edge between life and death. Survival was all that mattered. It had been cold when Kratos arrived on foreign shores, and it remained colder still deep inside the pits of his lost soul.  

Fading orange light shot through the cracks in the thatch roof above Kratos, signaling dusk. Kratos shifted on the bed and grit his teeth as pain shot through every muscle. He had grown very weak during his travels. He had been constantly battered from the wildlife, the elements, and the natives with little reprieve except for the brief intermission of sleep where he could once again dream of that distant life. Kratos did not know what he was searching for when he left Greece, if only to escape the nightmares that haunted him there in the wastelands of what was once his home.  

Kratos had wandered aimlessly in this new and dangerous realm with little regard to his own wellbeing. He knew that at some time he would pay a price for his carelessness. No matter how cozy the home and how warm the fire, this was not _his_ home. His wife and child wouldn't burst through the door to greet him. No, this was a hell of his own creation. Someone had captured him. Hazy memories floated to the surface of his mind.

The hunter.  

Yes, he remembered now. The woman in the forest with hair the color of copper had shot him full of arrows. She had been trying to take his kill. The first arrow to the shoulder had been a warning. When he would not back off the stag, _his_ kill, she fired three more. He had been so hungry, starvation making a beast out of him. It had been days since he had seen any sign of wildlife. This land was cursed and barren. He was sure he would die before he spotted the animal among the foliage.  

Perhaps the hunter was starving too. But he couldn't have worried about that.  In an unforgiving world there is no room for weakness. Cruel and hard places often bred more cruel and hard creatures. This realm was not exempt from that simple fact of nature. Only the strong are permitted to survive. That left Kratos in a precarious situation. He should not have lived. The hunter, whoever she was, should have left him to die. Kratos didn’t see any other reason for the hunter to take him captive.  

That is, unless his capturer knew who he was. Knew _what_ he was. Cold fear gripped Kratos' around his middle. He had come so far to leave his past behind, only to walk right back into its grasp. Could he ever escape it?   

Sudden approaching footsteps tore Kratos from his thoughts. He inhaled a sharp breath and quickly shut his eyes. He hoped he would appear as if he were still resting. In his weakened state, the only advantage that he could have in a fight would be the element of surprise. He would wait for his capturer to get close, then he would strike.  

He heard the door open, and heavy steps on the wood floor. The hunter gave a satisfied sigh as they entered and Kratos felt the frigid air creep across his skin. It was certainly warmer inside the home than outside in the chilled northern woods. The hunter kicked the door shut and they spoke, addressing him. 

“I’ve caught us some venison, Fárbauti.” Her voice was silvery and calming, far different from the day that she had shot him. She spoke in his language now. Was she also a Greek? Did she flee the wastelands too? That would explain how she knew who he was. But she looked nothing like any Greek he had seen.

Something heavy hit the table, probably the hunter’s catch. Kratos tried to keep himself still but there was a vibration that rumbled through his body. It was that trill of excitement, that anticipation before a battle. His heart pounded hard against his sternum as the adrenaline kicked in. He was ready to fight.  

She said something else, but Kratos was too distracted to comprehend. He was already envisioning how he could attack without doing more damage to himself.  

She said that name again, _Fárbauti_. Footsteps neared his bedside.  

He could feel her standing close. The hunter's breaths were shallow as she looked down at him. Kratos caught her scent: a mixture of sweat and animal hide.  

That feeling inside him rose up, clawing at him from the inside and screaming at him to attack.  

 _Not yet,_ Kratos commanded himself. _Not yet._  

He almost flinched when she brought her hands to his shoulders. They were calloused and warm. The hunter shook him gently, calling out that name.  

 _Why was there so much concern in her voice?_ She shook him again, harder. Her breathing quickened and Kratos felt two fingers at his neck taking his pulse. He cursed inwardly, hoping his heart would not betray him. He was running out of time. If he was going to attack, he would need to do it now.  

 _Attack!_ his instincts screamed.  

But Kratos ground down. _Not. Yet._  

The hunter said something else in a low, whispered voice. Something about an apology. There was a brief moment of silence and Kratos took in a slow, deep inhale, counting himself down.  

But before he could give himself permission to attack, the hunter struck him hard across the cheek.  

_She knows._

Kratos’ eyes shot open, a growl of rage burning in his throat. His cheek stung with pain.  

Her pale blue eyes widened, and a look of surprise spread over her face. Kratos had to move fast while he still had the advantage. He snatched her wrist in his own, gripping her tight.  

“Friend,” the hunter stuttered. She tried to speak more, but Kratos did not stop his attack. With his other hand he took hold of her ivory throat.  

She had shot him with arrows. She was not a friend.  

Her freckled face turned red as she struggled to breath. He tightened his grip on her throat. Why had she waited so long to kill him if she knew who he was?   

Kratos’ head snapped back and pain exploded in his face. She had punched him. He released his grip on her and she escaped backward, coughing and sputtering.  

Standing up was much harder than Kratos had expected. Every joint in his body ached and his sides burned with pain. He doubled over for a moment and realized there were heavy bandages over his injuries. She had healed him? But why?  

The woman caught her breath, and she panted hard. 

“ _Friend._ ” Her voice was hoarse.  

 Those pale blue yes darted from Kratos to something behind him. Kratos followed her gaze to an axe leaned up against the timber wall, right beside the bed where he had awoken. Ah, so she was a warrior as well as a hunter. 

The axe was all the confirmation Kratos cared to gather. She had intended ill upon him. He would return the favor.

Though, with his wounds, he wasn’t sure if this was a fight he could win. But that had never stopped him before and it wouldn’t now. If he were to meet his end, he would do so with fervor.  

“Not friend,” Kratos said. He picked up the axe. There were shooting pains in his ribs, but his rage overrode pain. He gripped the weapon, a snarl on his lips.  

There was a moment between them as Kratos narrowed his focus. He realized he hadn’t gotten a clear look at the hunter until now. He felt as if he were seeing her for the first time. 

Her hair reminded him red clay from his homeland, and her pale blue eyes pierced him like arrows. She matched his height, her athletic body clad in a mix of pelts and linens. Runic tattoos peeked out from her clothing. He could see them in bands around her forearms and running down to her fingers.  

Suddenly the axe pulled away from his grip. For a second, he thought that he had dropped the weapon. But no, it flew from his hand as if pulled by an unseen force. The woman caught it as it arced through the air. She didn’t share Kratos’ surprised.

The axe had been magical. There was more to this warrior than he had initially thought. Not only did she know his true nature, but she also had command of magics. In Kratos’ experience, a mixture of those two never worked out in his favor.  

“Come and get it, beast!” she growled. And Kratos obliged.

With a mighty roar, he tore across the room and rammed his full weight into the warrior before she could raise the axe against him. The weapon clattered to the floor. His strategy would be in close-range combat, to keep flying magical axes from gaining the advantage.  

She fought fiercely, matching his strength blow for blow. But the God of War was still very weak. He felt his attacks waning in power, but she fought on. He could taste blood in his mouth. The pain was becoming unbearable and his attacks grew sloppy. She kept aiming her attacks at his wounds, knowing his weakness.  

“Don’t make me kill you,” she had told him, recalling her axe.  

Kratos wasn’t sure if he even wanted this fight. He had grown so tired these many moons of traveling. All this time and so much running. All for nothing. Even a stranger could easily tell his nature. Was it so obvious? It seemed that he would never escape the stain of his past.  

 _How easy it would be_ , he thought, _to give in._  

He could kneel and bow his head in defeat. But Kratos didn’t want easy. 

 Kratos spit the blood from his mouth, his resolve weakened. A deep sorrow rooted itself in his heart. Perhaps he was not worthy of seeing this through. Could this be the end of the long road he had traveled? 

If this was the end, Kratos felt no shame in this death. She was a hearty warrior. One worthy of his respect.  

“Come on!” she goaded him. _Yes_ , he thought. _There would be no shame to die by a warrior’s hand._  

Kratos gave her one last fight with all his remaining strength. And she returned the same energy. She wouldn’t make it easy, and that’s exactly how Kratos wanted it. 

 The warrior landed another hard blow to his wounds, causing Kratos to cry out in pain. He had grown so weak, not only in body but in spirit. She finished with a hard jab to his throat, stealing his breath. Kratos clutched his throat, choking for air when she kicked him to the floor.  

This is it. His mind became a blur of memories. He thought once more of Sparta, of the wife and daughter he delivered to Hades. Their memories tore at his heart.  

The warrior took him to the floor and locked him in a chokehold. Kratos struggled, giving spirit to his denouement. He reached for hair, he kicked, and elbowed. The warrior released a fierce cry, tightening her grip. The world darkened and Kratos would rage into that darkness with the last threads of his strength. He managed to land an effective blow to her ribs, offering a fruitful **_crack_ **. The hunter screamed.

Good. At least she would remember him for the wounds he gave her.  

His lung burned for air and Kratos felt himself being sucked into the darkness. An overwhelming sense of relief flooded him. Perhaps, he would at last find peace and respite from the nightmares. He briefly wondered what kind of afterlife would greet him. With a smile, Kratos felt the last of his strength drain from him.

.

.

.

And he drifted into nothingness.  

 


	5. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for you support everyone, much appreciated.  
> Also, just for clarification, I am writing this under the assumption that Faye does not yet know about the Ragnarok prophecy. I've been reading the novelization of the game and she is described pregnant when she argues with the giants over her fate. So....to be continued.

Faye pulled her stool from the bedside to the center of her home. Her feet dragged across the floor and ache pulled at her every step. She clutched her ribs, gritting her teeth through pain as she slumped down. Dark bruises had already blossomed at her cheek, under her eyes, and along her throat.  

Faye dabbed her broken, bloodied lip with a cloth.  

“Let’s talk.”  

Across from Faye was the pale god. Kratos knelt with his arms chained behind his back, keeping him bound to a large timber beam. He said nothing. Only looked up at her miserably. 

“Who taught you the language of these lands, foreigner?” Faye asked. Kratos gave the chains one hard tug, testing them.  

“Speak,” Faye ordered. She could see the muscles in his jaw work, his glare evermore enflamed.  She seemed like nothing more than a mild annoyance to him. She expected nothing less of a god. 

“Why did you not kill me?” his voice was gravelly, like a low roll of thunder.  

Faye reach out and called her axe. The Leviathan heaved from its implantation in her wall and came spiraling through the air.  

She caught the axe, then used it to point menacingly at Kratos.  

“Unfortunately, you are worth more to me alive.”  

Faye grit her teeth through the sharp pain in her side. She could barely lift her own axe with the wounds Kratos had given her. Still, Faye felt lucky to still be breathing after taking a direct hit from the god. Fay planted the axe hard in the floor beside her with a scowl on her face.  

“You are not a man easily fought.”  

“Nor am I a man easily bound by chains,” Kratos growled back. Faye smirked, showing no fear in the face of the god. 

“It is true. You could free yourself and kill me,” she paused and narrowed her icy glare, “But then you’d never find where I’ve hidden them.”  

Kratos stiffened at the mention of the blades.  

“I take it they’re precious to you.”  

“Yes.” was all the stranger offered.  

“Who sent you here?”  

“No one,” he said, his voice gruff.  

“Why are you here?”  

“Traveling.”   

“You talk more in your sleep, _Fárbauti_ ,” she chuckled. Her laughs quickly sputtered, and Faye began coughing. Kratos continued to glower at her as she struggled to catch her breath. 

She doubled over and heaved, spitting blood into her hand. Faye met his eyes for a moment and cursed to herself. Her lungs were injured. If she upset the injuries more, she could risk drowning in her own blood.  

“What is that name you call me?” Kratos asked.

“One that I saw fit until you provide me with another,” she snapped, wiping her mouth with the back of her palm.  

Faye thought hard for a moment. She knew the chains would not hold him. _When_ he freed himself, she wouldn’t be able to fight back. She was at his mercy, and he knew it.  He would entertain he questions until grew bored of them, or until she struck a nerve. And Fárbauti wasn't exactly a conversationalist. 

“Do you attack many people in the woodlands?” She asked. 

“Only those who give me reason.”  

Faye chuckled at that, then immediately grabbed her side in pain.  

“Ah,” she wheezed, “So you’ve met the reavers, then?”  

“Reavers?”  

“The nasty folk that hunt in packs like wolves,” she shot him a look, “Attacking innocent travelers.”  

Kratos grunted and offered a curt nod.  

Faye sighed. This conversation going nowhere. Farbauti wasn’t going to respond to simple questions and talk. She had the thread to tug that would unravel him. Yet, there was something that still unnerved her. If he could free himself so easily, why had he not attacked? Perhaps there was a part of him, however small, that did not want to fight.  

Even so, when she tried the way of peace, he returned the favor by nearly snapping her in half. It was possible that all this god understood was war, conflict, and threats. So, Faye would return in kind.  

“But you’re no innocent traveler, are you?”  

His eyes burned when she said that.  

“You know nothing about me,” Kratos growled back.  

“I know enough, Fárbauti” Faye paused, her jaw tight. “In my language it means ‘cruel striker’.”  

She’d give him a war alright.  

“Or would you prefer I called you _god-child_ _?_ ”  

Kratos said nothing in response but his face revealed everything.  

“Yes, I know what you are.”  

They glowered each other for a long moment. His nostrils flared with his heavy breaths. 

“You would be wise to release me. Now.”  

Faye stood up, strengthening her resolve.   

“I have one more question.” She could hear the chains clatter together as Kratos strained against them. 

Faye took a step forward and crouched, meeting eye-to-eye with the god. Faye noticed for the first time a long scar that ran from his forehead to his check, cutting over his right eye. How had she not seen that before? It was thick and knotted, an old wound. Something received as a child.  

She searched Kratos’ eyes to find anything redeeming but only fire glared back. Faye leaned close to his ear, reaching to tug that tender thread.  

“Who is Lysandra?”  

Kratos was on top of Faye before her brain had even processed that he had broken the chains. The floorboards scraped her cheek as he wrestled her to the floor. In an instant, Kratos had one knee on Faye’s back and his other on her arm. She swung at him with her free-arm but Kratos snatched her wrist and pinned it at her spine. She struggled for a moment, but it was useless.  

“You know nothing of which you speak.”  

“Did you kill her?” she panted. “Did you kill Calliope too?”  

Kratos dug his first into her injured ribs. The pain was blinding. Faye gasped and choked down a scream.  

“Where are the blades, woman?”  

“Fuck you.”   

“Where. Are. They?”  

When she did not answer, Kratos dug in further. He might as well have stuck a white-hot poker into her side. Faye bit down on her tongue to keep the scream in.  

“Tell me and the pain stops.”  

Faye tasted blood. Tears threatened at her eyes. He wouldn’t risk killing her, she knew that. Not until he knew where the blades were.  

“You won’t find them.” she ground out. “I’ve hidden them. With magic.”  

A lie, but one that he seemed to believe.  

With a roar of anger, Kratos backed off Faye. She remained on the floor for a moment, coughing and recovering. She could hear the metallic twang of the Leviathan as the god took it in his grip.  

Faye rolled on her back and faced Kratos as he loomed over her, leveling the axe with her forehead.  

“I will tear this house apart if I have to.”  

“I imagine you’re very good at tearing things apart,” she spat, her breathing growing hard. Kratos only grunted in reply.  

“You’re so desperate to find them,” Faye took a deep, watery breath, “Tell me god, what do the blades mean to you?”  

“More to me than your life,” he warned. Faye cracked a bitter smile. Blood showed in her teeth and gums. 

“You won’t kill me.”  

“I would not be so sure,” Kratos snarled.  

Faye groaned as she stood, holding her side. The pain was going to rip her in two.  

“If you wanted to kill me,” she huffed, “You would have done it already.” Faye pushed past him and limped toward her bed. He did not stop her.  

 “Tell you what,” she said, easing herself down into the bed, “I’ll make a deal with you.”  

Kratos held fast where he stood, still holding the axe. 

“You are in no position to be making deals,” he grumbled.  

“Aren’t I?”  

Faye adjusted herself with a cry of pain. She rid herself of her hide jerkin and constricting belt, then pulled up her tunic. An incredible blotch of blackened skin stretched over her side. She cursed again then glared at Kratos.  

“It is getting cold and very soon winter will be upon us,” Faye said. Kratos scowled and nodded.  

“I imagine it will be very difficult,” he said.  

“Difficult?!” Faye barked. “When I found you, you were smashing animals like a mad troll and nearly dead yourself.”  

“I was weak,” Kratos said.  

“And weak still,” Fay countered. “Stay, rest, heal, and wait out the winter. Come spring, I will return the blades.”  

“I decline the offer.”  

“I wasn’t _offering_ ,” Faye hissed, “I can’t lift my axe, nor pull a bow-string like this.” She nodded to the Leviathan in Kratos’ hands.  

“I’ll need a hunter.”  She remembered the vision she had of the child and of this god wielding her axe. Seeing the axe now in his grip made her stomach twist. Faye did not anticipate that it would be she who gave it to him. But she didn't exactly have a choice at the moment. A small piece of the puzzle fit together in her mind, but one still remained. Who was the child? 

“I could take the axe then leave you to starve," Kratos threatened. 

“And the location of your blades would die with me. So, do we have a deal, Fárbauti?”  

Kratos seethed for a moment, contemplating his options. Then, with a grumble of frustration, Kratos slammed the axe into her table. Faye smiled to herself, listening to Kratos pace angrily around her hearth and then finally settle himself on her stool.  At least now, she would have time to pry him open and find out why he was really here. 

“You might as well tell me your name,” Faye called from the bedside. 

He seemed to ignore her. His attention was on the embers and she could see the same fire glowing in his eyes. Beyond the rage, Faye could see sorrow etched deep into his features. She truly wondered who Lysandra and Calliope were. Faye regretted invoking the names that caused the stranger pain. It was a sadness that Faye knew all too well.  

“Kratos,” he finally grumbled. Faye craned her neck to look at him as he slumped at the hearth. He met her eyes for a moment then tore them away.  

“Faye,” she replied, settling back into her bed.  


	6. Lo, There Do They Call to Me

 

 _“Pull the string all the way to your nose. Keep your elbow high.”_  

 _“Is this right?”_  

 _Faye pressed her cheek to his. He was warm, the last embers of fever burning away under his skin. Faye’s gaze followed the arrow down the sights to the target. The rabbit, blissfully unaware, nibbled on clover_ _s a few yards away_ _. For a moment the arrow faltered. Faye cupped his small elbow in her hand, leveling his aim. The child leaned into her touch._  

 _“Perfect.” Faye stole a glance at his pale blue eyes. “Fire only when the animal is looking down,” she whispered._  

_The child released the arrow. The rabbit’s eyes darted upward - fear gripped the creature to the spot._

_Feathers scratched across Faye’s cheek as the arrow flew._   

 _The arrow rested in the trunk of a nearby tree._ _The rabbit bounded away._

_“I missed._ _I’m sorry._ _”_  

 _The child was looking down dejectedly at the forest floor, wringing the bow in his grip. He would not look up at her. Faye tipped his head up to meet her gaze. His bottom lip quivered. Faye ran her thumb across his cheek._  

 _“You never have to apologize to me, little one.”_  

# 

Faye woke with a start. She gripped her chest, her heart thundering hard against her ribs. That familiar tingle at the back of her neck made the hairs on her arms rise. It was the same feeling Faye had when she first saw a vision of the Kratos and the child. This time, the child seemed a bit younger and sickly. Up close this time, she could finally see the details of his face. It was so vivid. She could even see the flex of gold in his irises. There were deep scars in his face too, pink and healing. Faye flexed her hands. She could still feel the pitted channels of scar tissue under her thumb. 

Faye wondered what could be triggering the visions. Did the choices she make influence the threads of time? If she had indeed killed Farbauti instead of letting him live, would she have visions of the child still? The thought made a more unsettling hypothesis burn in Faye’s mind. The man and the child’s fate could be intertwined. _But how?_  

Faye glanced around her home for a moment. It was just past dawn and the cool temperatures from the night still clung to air. Embers burned low at the hearth and Faye's breath came in small puffs. The bedroll of furs beside the hearth was empty. She was alone for the moment. Her axe was gone as well. It occurred to her that Fárbauti could have simply taken the axe while she slept and abandoned his blades. 

 _That would be inconvenient_ , she thought.  

But highly unlikely. He had some deeper connection to the blades. They weren’t mere weapons to him. Faye was certain that as long as she had the blades concealed, that Kratos would remain close by. 

Faye eased herself upward one vertebra at a time. Despite how slowly she moved, there was still immense pain. Outside, came the sound of wood splitting under a blade. 

Fárbauti. He hadn't left after all. 

Faye released a burdened sigh. There was a part of Faye that dreaded having to face the god. If it came to blows again, Faye wasn’t sure that she had another fight left in her. He was a god. And if she couldn’t fight he could very well kill her.  

She pulled on her jerkin and boots, then followed the sound. Faye paused at the threshold of her home, sparing a glance at her bow and quiver.  

**_“Is this right?”_ **

The child’s voice reverberated in her mind. A shiver crawled up Faye’s spine. 

If the child and the god were connected, the only chance for answers she had was through Kratos. Faye curdled at the thought.  

Faye limped outside, her bow in one hand and her quiver in the other. Fárbauti busied himself with a large heap of wood. Faye observed him for a moment. He threw down logs and swung the Leviathan with incredible ease. He sliced through the wood like a hot knife through a hunk of lard. He hadn't even broken a sweat. But his eyes were dull of emotion. His face held no expression. It was all mechanical. 

“That’s enough,” Faye said. “That’s more than we’ll burn through in four cold nights.”  

“It is getting colder,” Kratos grunted. He never took his eyes off the task. He swung the axe down and split another log in two.  

“We still have time until the first snow. Save your strength.” It made Faye’s stomach twist to say ‘we’. She did not like the idea of kinship with the god, but it was a necessary discomfort. 

Kratos gave one last chop, his face hardened and still focused on the chore. 

“How long will that be?”  

“Two moon cycles at least.” Fay shrugged. Kratos gave an exasperated sigh and set the axe in a log. He crossed his arms and glared at Faye. 

“I know you are anxious to have your blades returned, Farbautie” she said, almost apologetically.  

“I am.”  

“Hm,” Faye thought, “Maybe you should have thought about that before you broke my ribs.”  

Faye tossed the bow and quiver at Kratos. He caught them and raised an eyebrow.  

“We’re going hunting,” Faye said. She nodded at the bow. “I trust you know how to use it?”  

Kratos slung the quiver over his shoulder and prepared and arrow.  

“Good. Let’s be off, then.”  

Faye called the Leviathan to her. She caught it and immediately winced, nearly dropping the weapon. 

“You cannot wield that axe effectively in your state,” Kratos said, eyeing her.  

“Maybe not,” Faye said, hefting the axe on her shoulder. “But it sure as Hel will scare off the reavers.”  

 

# 

  **KRATOS**

 

The woman was an excellent tracker. Her senses were tuned into every sound of the forest, every scent, every animal trail. Kratos followed close behind, careful not to tread heavily on the dried leaves and pine needles. Faye moved swiftly and silently, even though she was wounded. Kratos could see more clearly how formidable a hunter she truly was.  

Faye stopped and crouched beside the underbelly of a pine tree. Beneath the shelter of branches was a small dark cavern cushioned with fallen needles. A cozy den. Kratos watched Faye as she hovered a hand over the bed of foliage.  

“A doe rested here,” she whispered to Kratos. He crouched beside her and wondered what those eyes saw, for he did not see the same. It only appeared to be dead pine needles. Faye sensed his bewilderment and spared a few more moments at the den. 

“See her body,” Faye grazed a finger over the needles, tracing a pattern. Kratos tightened his jaw, focusing hard on hunter’s teachings. 

“Taste her scent,” Faye instructed. She breathed in deeply, leaving her mouth open slightly. Kratos did the same. He could catch the faintest musk of the animal on his tongue. Then, Faye offered her hand to Kratos. He hesitated a moment, his body going rigid. 

Faye, unperturbed, took his hand and held it close to the earth. “Feel her warmth.”  

Kratos furrowed his brow and nodded. He was beginning to understand.  

“It was here only moments ago,” Kratos murmured. 

“Then we must hurry. Come,” Faye said. She released his hand and backed away from the den.  

She made it look easy, and it rankled him a bit. It wasn’t petty jealously, no, it was agitation at his own foolishness. He had been on the brink of starvation in these strange lands due to his ignorance to the native plants and animals. He would have to re-educate himself on how to survive this place through the winter. It would be difficult. Everything was so much different than Sparta. But Kratos did not allow himself linger long on the thoughts of home. Still, he could feel the grief gnawing at him.  

 _Close your heart to it,_ He told himself. Kratos gripped the bow, channeling his focus into the hunt.  

“This way,” The hunter hissed. She crouched low and belly-crawled up a slight ridge. She motioned for Kratos to do the same. Reluctantly, Kratos crawled up the ridge. He laid flat on his stomach beside Faye. He could feel her warmth. She peeked over the edge and beckoned Kratos to look as well.  

Down in a ravine, a family of deer grazes along a stream. Their coats were the color of Faye's hair, red as Spartan clay. There were several large stags with large crowns of antlers, followed by does and small juveniles. All prime targets. Kratos moved to take aim but his position on the ridge made it too awkward. He could miss the shot, and the deer could scatter, wasting time and energy. 

“This is not an optimal position,” Kratos said in a low voice. Faye shushed him.  

“Just watch, Fárbauti,” She whispered. Kratos bit back a growl and watched the deer.  

“I see nothing,” Kratos muttered.  

“That is because you are not looking,” Faye said. She pointed down at a doe with a dull sheen of fur. Speckles of white were in her muzzle.

“That one. She is the oldest and weakest.”  

“Why not the stag?” Kratos pointed at a robust male.  

“If we hunt only the strongest and leave the weak, then what will happen? The wolves will come. And then we will have no more venison,” Faye explained, edging herself back from the ridge.  

“We are cull the weak,” Kratos said. That concept, at least, he understood.  

Kratos stood up and took aimed. The doe drank from the stream, blissfully unaware. On his exhale breath, Kratos released the arrow. The feathers of the bow scratched his cheek as it fired past. The arrow sang through the air and found purchase in the doe’s chest. Straight the heart. The other red deer wailed and scattered, leaving only the felled doe.  

Kratos backed off the ridge and prepared to traverse the ravine for his kill. The hunter stood in his way. She was looking at him, but it was something in her eyes that made Kratos stop in his tracks. The color was stricken from her freckled cheeks, and her eyes were wide. She stood rigid, taught as a pulled bowstring. She seemed shocked, as if suddenly realizing a terrible thing.  

She blinked and came to her senses.  

“We should go before scavengers come,” she mumbled and hurried down the ravine. Kratos narrowed his eyes and followed.  

# 

**FAYE**

 

Kratos hefted the doe over his shoulder as they made their way back to the homestead. Faye walked ahead of him, her body stiff and mechanical. She had seen something on the ridge, something that frightened her. It was the same feeling Faye had when she saw the vision of the boy. She had seen something similar in Farbauti.  It was as if she could see the fabric of time folding over itself, watching history repeat itself. 

“Stop,” Kratos ordered. His voice was low and rough. 

“What is it?” Faye instinctively withdrew the Leviathan and tuned her senses to the forest for danger. The forest had gone silent. Not even the birds sang. The hairs on the back of Faye’s neck raised on end. 

“Look,” Kratos pointed ahead through the forest. Faye squinted, and she could see a cart poking up from between trees several yards ahead. It wasn’t moving. She heard no voices, no cries for help. Faye made a step forward but Kratos took her wrist.  

“No. Wait here,” Kratos grumbled. He laid down the deer quietly and reached out for the axe. Faye hesitated for a moment then passed it to him. She protested quietly inside as she did so. But what could she do in her condition? The axe would be useless to her. It was better off in more capable hands for the time being. 

"I will signal for you when it is safe," Kratos said. He approached the cart and disappeared through behind the cover of trees.  

Faye waited through painstaking moments of silence.  But there was something filtering through the edges of her consciousness. A voice

 **"I'm sorry,"** It whispered. It was the child's voice. She could hear him as if he were standing right in front of her. She heard it repeating over and over in her head. 

**I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry....**

It became a blur, a cacophony. Faye winced and gripped her ears. 

"Stop it," she whispered. _"Stop it."_ Was she going mad? 

“Faye,” Kratos called finally. The voice stoped. She shook her head, bringing herself back to the present moment. 

Faye rushed in and took in the scene. The cart was ransacked. Broken crates and torn open baskets were littered about. There was not even the beast of burden to haul the cart. There was nothing left. Picked clean.  

Faye made her way around to the front. A man lay dead at Kratos’ feet.  

“ _Gods’ blood_ ,” Faye cursed. It was an older man  - a  traveler by the looks of the looted cargo. His throat had been slashed and he lay in a pool of congealed blood .  It was impossible that they could have been in the forest all day and not heard any cries for help. Faye crouched and examined the body. No, this corpse was _days_ old. The eyes, still open, were opaque and sunken deep in the skull. The skin was pale and stiff like clay. Faye could see where scavengers had already begun to pick at his flesh.  

“Reavers,” Faye growled. Her chest tightened, and her side ached with her ragged breaths. This man might have had a family, a wife and children. What had become of them? Faye balled her hands to fists. 

“Fucking savages,” she growled. These reavers, these _monsters_ , were wolves that moved in the night who preyed on the weak and helpless. Senseless, she roared inwardly. Senseless violence. These reavers were no different than the gods that slaughtered her kin.   

“We should leave this place,” Kratos suggested. “More may come.” 

Kratos was right. There was nothing Faye could do. The trail was too cold to track, and she was too injured to fight.  

“Fine,” Faye snarled. She took a shaky breath and flexed her fingers, rage still burning inside her.  

“Lo, there do I see my Mother.” Faye bit down on her rage and folded the corpse’s hands over his chest. 

“We should not linger here-”  

“Lo, there do I see my Father,” she spoke over Kratos. She hoped that this traveler’s spirit would find peace. She hoped that if he had a family, that they would survive the winter without him.  

“Lo, there do they call to me.”  

The image of the child flashed in her mind again. Faye heard his voice.  

**“Lo, there do they call to me.”**


	7. Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry about the delay, been busy finishing my undergraduate. 
> 
> Thanks so much for your patience. It's truly heartwarming to see all the support even when I haven't posted for a while. You guys rock. 
> 
> \- Howler x

KRATOS 

The traveler unnerved Kratos. In another life, that man could have been him. Weak. Ordinary. Mortal. 

Kratos craved the mundanity of the natural order, of death. It came so easily to some, like this traveler. What a blessing it was. In another life, Kratos could have lived out his days in Sparta with his wife and child. He could have grown old beside Lysandra, and maybe lived long enough to see his child grow into the strong woman he knew she could have been. He would have been wholly content with that life. But that was long gone now, buried in the ever-shifting sands of time.  

But there was that other side of Kratos, however small, was at the very least grateful for his godly powers. He was not helpless to the violent whims of others. Did this man watch his family be ripped from him? Did he suffer? Suffering was a condition of man and Kratos knew suffering all too well. He'd suffered for so long that any bit of joy or happiness was always veiled with a layer of thick, terrible dread like it was a all a trick.

He heard Faye as she whispered a prayer over the man’s body. She took the corpse’s hand and crossed it over his chest. Her hands shook terribly.  

“Lo, there do I see my Mother,” she murmured. 

And where was her family? It never occurred to Kratos why the hunter lived alone in the woods. He wondered what clan or tribe might have shaped her hands. He wondered what mother and father made her the woman she was – and where they had gone.  

Kratos’ eyes shifted around the dense cluster of trees around them.  

“We should not linger,” Kratos urged her. Faye shot him a glare and spoke louder.  

“Lo, there do I see my Father,” she growled.  

Kratos understood her rage. He understood her helplessness. But as far as Kratos knew, this traveler was no one to her. Just one of the many in the faceless horde struggling to survive above the shit of this world. He was just another man, left to pass and be forgotten.  

“Lo, there do they call to me,” she finished her prayer. A stillness fell over the hunter as she knelt at the man’s body. Faye stood, gripping her hands into tight fists. She offered the body one last glance before trudging away.  

Most of all Kratos wondered why she bothered to pray regardless of the man, stranger or not. This woman had such clear disdain for the gods.  

Kratos followed her, perplexed, as she led the way back to doe. 

 

FAYE

Faye and Kratos ate a meal of stewed venison and unleavened bread that night. Faye was silent and sullen. She stared down at her bowl, troubling thoughts stealing her appetite. If she had not been distracted by the stranger, there was a chance she would have been able to save the traveler. Her purpose in this realm was to protect those who could not protect themselves. Faye tightened her fist as the image of the dead traveler flashed in her mind. Eyes cloudy and mouth open mid-scream. She had failed him.  

Faye considered giving up the blades and letting the stranger go. It was a fleeting thought. No, she had to maintain her bargain with him. How many more innocent lives were at risk if she didn’t investigate whether he was a threat or not? He had to prove himself worthy. That was the only way she could be sure his existence in the realm wouldn’t upset the natural balance. The only other option would be killing him, and she realized she was in no position to grapple with him again. She was too close and too weak, and he had been very watchful of her since their hesitant deal. Every move she made was under the gaze of those golden eyes. He even waited until she made the first bite of the stew, probably suspecting poison.  

In the meantime, there was another equally great risk lurking in the woods. Faye was familiar with reavers. Their numbers had continued to grow every winter over the 90 years at her watch. Each season they grew bolder, and their tactics more desperate. And Faye knew all too well that a desperate animal was perhaps the most dangerous kind of creature. Like a wolf with its paw in a trap.  

Faye stole a glance at Kratos. Was he any different? Faye wasn’t sure exactly what the god could be capable of but the blades at least were testament to his ability for violence. If she gave up the blades in order to squash the reaver threat, would she not be leaving the realm in the clutches of a worse enemy? She chewed the inside of her lip. He couldn’t have come at a worse time.  

Now that she had become injured, Faye knew she would not be able to make her patrols of the forest and neighboring regions. The reavers would grow emboldened by her absence. The traveler on the road was proof enough of that. Faye ground her teeth. Soon she would remind them why they should be wary of the woods.   

With her appetite fully soured, Faye pushed her bowl to Kratos and sauntered to her bed in silence. He spoke without looking up from his meal.  

“You should eat,” He grunted.  

“I’m not hungry.”  

Kratos didn’t bother arguing. Faye kicked off her boots and settled restlessly into the furs. With her injury, it would be nearly impossible to drive out reavers. Without help, that is. She glanced over at Farbauti and was surprised to see that he was already looking at her.  

“Do you have faith in your gods?” Kratos asked. 

“I have no gods,” Faye said.  

“Why?”  

Faye sucked in a tired breath. She knew that not all gods were cruel. Tyr was the only one that came to mind. A god of war who had been an instrument of peace. He was the god who tried to save her people. In the end, he along with her kin fell to Odin’s sons. That small flicker of goodness had died with Tyr. There were no such things as peaceable gods, not anymore.   

"My business with the god's isn't a concern of yours, Farbauti,” Faye snapped, “Why does it matter to you?”  

“It doesn’t,” Kratos admitted.  

“Don’t take this personally, but you’re a shit conversationalist,” Faye said, eyeing him from the bed. 

"If you have no gods, then why did you pray for the traveler?" Kratos raised a brow. Waiting.  

“I offer prayer to my ancestors,” Faye said with a sigh, “Those whom I will join at the time of my death.” 

“Afterlife.” Kratos thought for a moment as he finished his supper. “It is foolish to believe in such things,” he said. 

“See this is why I don’t like talking to you.”  

 The only chance she had of seeing her people, her family again, would be in the realms of the dead. If she gave up that glimmer of hope, then what would she have? Who would she have to fight for? Why should she carry on?  

“Tell me _god_ ,” Fay growled, “Who waits for you in the afterlife?”  

Kratos flinched.  

She knew it was a cruel thing to say. But it felt so good to say something that would hurt him that Faye convinced herself it must be true. Gods could not feel, could not love. This god was no different. Nothing but darkness waited for him in the afterlife. There would be no comfort for him, no reprieve from the agony, and his screams would only be met with silence. 

Kratos’ breath grew heavy for a moment, and his eyes were glassy in the firelight. Faye could see the veins in his neck pulse with hot blood. He stood so hard that the stool clattered to the floor. Faye’s heart leapt up in her throat and for a moment she thought he might retaliate against her.  

He only gripped his fists tight and without a word, he lumbered toward the door and left. No violence, no blows, just silence. Faye laid back down and listened to his heavy steps on the dried foliage grow farther and farther away.  

 _Good_ , she seethed inwardly, _maybe now I can finally sleep without your midnight mumblings._  

Faye settled in her furs with a huff, but sleep did not come no matter how much she tossed and turned. She wished he had at least slapped her for insolence, called her a coward, or thrown any number of insults. Faye felt a deep, terrible gnawing sensation in her gut. It was the silence that bothered her the most.  

Only when the embers died in the hearth did Faye’s anger cool. Hours past and when Farbauti had not returned she couldn’t help the pang of concern in her chest. He was a god, but he was still weak. The odds would be against him if he came upon a pack of reavers. Shadows darted off the thatch roof with the flickering flames. Faye’s imagination spun up a hundred different monsters but none were worse than that damned feeling inside her that asked: _What if you’re wrong?_  

 Faye stayed awake until finally the embers died, and she drifted off. There were no dreams or visions, no memories of her kin, nor songs to lull her. Only the deepness. Only silence.  

- 

Faye woke to the sound of cloth tearing. It was just past dawn, too early for the birds to sing. There was only the long moan of the winds outside.  

Kratos was at the table. His back was to her and she watched as the snake-like tattoo wrapped around his chest moved as he worked. Something else caught her eye, another scar. It was a long gruesome slit of gnarred skin that fell just to the left of his spinal column. When he turned, she noticed it matched the scar on his abdomen. A wound like that should have been mortal. It seemed like the more Faye realized, the less she actually knew about the god.  

Kratos turned and Faye closed her eyes, just peeking through the lashes. He stood rigid, binding his wrists and forearms with linen. With a blank, mechanical look, Kratos slowly wrapped a roll of linen around and around. While his hands worked, his mind was elsewhere.  

 Where had he gone all night? Wherever it was, he found no rest there. Deep circles were under his gold eyes. A few times his grip on the linen faltered and he dropped the cloth to the floor. He was exhausted.  

Kratos didn’t look up when Faye eased herself from the bed. Closer now, Faye could see his hands were shaking. He dropped the roll of linen again, but Faye snatched it up from the floor. Faye reached for his hand but Kratos jerked it away with a tired grunt.  

“Let me see,” Faye said, beckoning for the arm. The muscles in his jaw shifted and with a heavy sigh, Kratos offered his arm.  

Faye inspected the wounds. It was curious. While his other wounds were mending fairly quickly, those chain-linked burns had still not healed. There were red and inflamed and still bleeding in some places. Faye traced a finder lightly over the marks. The skin was feverish. She could sense their magic, their curse. She shook her head knowing that this kind of magic went far beyond her expertise. This was god-magic.  

Faye turned his hand over and inspected fresh wounds over his knuckles. The skin was nearly scraped to the bone in places.  

“What have you done here,” she murmured. There were splinters in his skin. She was sure that there were some trees with fist-sized holes in them out in the forest. Kratos shifted the longer she looked. Faye took up the linen and began wrapping. She carefully took the linen in between his fingers and around his knuckles. She wound it securely but loose enough for free-movement.  

Faye glanced up as she worked. Those gold eyes that once burned with rage had grown heavy with sorrow and pain. Hand over hand, Faye bound his skin with wrappings all to the way up his forearms.  

As Faye moved for the other arm, Kratos took her wrist. Faye waited for him to speak but the words were slow to come. His eyes searched Faye’s face, jaw gripped tight. 

“What is it?” Faye asked. She could feel his grip on her wrist soften. His eyes fell low to the ground.  

“I too pray to my ancestors.” Kratos said. "I...hope," he ground out the word hope like it was a curse. "I hope that they find rest." 

“I thought you didn’t believe in the afterlife,” Faye said, taking her wrist from his grip.  

“I said it was foolish,” Kratos said, “I never said I didn’t believe.”  

Faye nodded, and took up wrapping his other arm.  

“It isn’t foolish to have hope,” she said, “In the end, hope is all we have.”  

“Hm,” Kratos grunted, a sad smile on his face.  

“What?”  

“It is nothing,” Kratos said. Faye wasn't convinced but she was pleased at least that he was capable of an emotion other than rage or silent judgement. He flexed both hands, testing the bindings. Seemingly satisfied, Kratos gave Faye a curt nod as a small gesture of thanks. 

"Good," Faye said, brushing past him to the larder. She filled a rucksack with various supplies and bobbles: venison jersey, unleavened bread, seeds, pelts, beads. 

"Come along, Farbauti," She said at the door, "We're going to see a friend." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are much appreciated! Apologies for my bad grammar and spelling errors.


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